


Stroke

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis just needs an alpha to praise him.





	Stroke

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s one of those rare nights where he can’t sleep, even though he’s been dying to all day, and Noctis knows exactly why. The last twenty hours have been nothing but pure _stress_ , and the rest of the week hasn’t been much better. He can still feel the burn from Gladiolus’ merciless training, could swear he still feels the bruises, even though he was practically doused in elixirs. Ignis’ disappointment in him over his coursework still weighs heavy on his shoulders. And just thinking of the council meeting that he was dragged to, where every alpha glared at him every time he spoke, even though they _made_ him attend, still makes his skin crawl. Life would probably be easier if he were an alpha too—maybe then they wouldn’t dare look down on him for his youth and inexperience. Maybe it’d be easier to kick Gladiolus’ ass. He’d probably still struggle in his lessons, but at least Ignis wouldn’t look at him with _pity_.

But he’s not. He’s a royal anomaly: the lone omega in a Citadel chock full of alphas. And sometimes it seems like none of them know how to handle him. Know what he needs. And it leaves him drained and annoyed and unable to just _sleep_.

He does, at least, know one alpha that won’t judge him. His phone’s sitting on the nightstand, completely within reach. But his digital clock also tells him that it’s two in the morning, and that’s no time to be randomly calling people. So he tries to quash the urge. 

He makes it until two seventeen, and then he breaks—he’s just so _tired_ , and if there’s one thing Noctis hates, it’s being awake when he doesn’t have to be.

He feels guilty punching in the number, but he does it anyway. Then he slips the phone between his cheek and the pillow while it rings, fully expecting it to keep right on ringing.

It stops after two. A familiar, sleep-addled voice mumbles, _“Hey?”_

Noctis grunts, “Hey,” and then, when he hears Prompto yawn, he asks, “Is it too late to call...?”

 _“No,”_ Prompto answers, even though it very much sounds like he should say yes. _“Not for my favourite prince, anyway. What’s up?”_

Noctis shifts, burrowing deeper under his thick blankets. He lets out an aggravated exhale and wonders how much he can really dump on Prompto in the middle of the night. Prompto already puts up with so much shit being his friend. The crazy schedule, the over the top security, the lying press... but Prompto never complains, always offering up a comfy shoulder for Noctis to lean on.

Noctis mutters vaguely, “I... just had a rough day.”

Static blows over the phone: probably another yawn. _“I’m sorry, man. What can I do?”_

It feels so weird to say, and he probably _shouldn’t_ say it, but Noctis admits, “Just... tell me I’m good.”

The phone’s quiet. Noctis understands. It’s totally weird. But he is what he is, and as tough and unaffected as he pretends to be, the inner omega in him still wants to be taken care of. He wants an alpha to pet him. Sometime Ignis comes close, but Noctis can never bring himself to ask his advisor for it. The others are all just... busy being _alphas_. They don’t _get_ it.

Prompto probably doesn’t get it. But somehow he’s always just what Noctis needs anyway, and he murmurs through the phone, _“You’re a good boy, Noctis.”_

Noctis skin prickles. His chest clenches, eyes falling shut. It’s ridiculous how a few little words can make him so warm. Prompto tells him, soothing and sincere, _“You’re a good omega—we’re all lucky to have you. The alpha that claims you someday is going to be_ so _lucky. And they’ll make every other alpha in Insomnia jealous.”_

Noctis lets out a weak laugh. That’s a little far. Prompto’s voice picks up—it feels like he’s smiling, and smiling right at Noctis. _“I mean it. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re super hot... you probably don’t know it, but you smell amazing. Those crusty old assholes at the Citadel are probably just pissed their omegas aren’t as cute as you.”_

Now he’s blushing. He doesn’t know how he smells to alphas, but it feels great to know he smells good to Prompto. Prompto always knows how to make him feel good. Prompto yawns again—Noctis should let him sleep. 

“Thanks...”

Prompto repeats, _“You’re such a good boy, Noct.”_ And Noctis is just... light as clouds. 

He can’t help but think that _Prompto_ would be such a great alpha to have. He’s as handsome as they come, and he’s kind, and he’s _fun_ —he always feels right. He fits so well at Noctis’ side. 

But he needs his sleep as much as Noctis does, and Noctis mumbles, “Thanks... seriously.”

 _“Mhm,”_ Prompto tiredly hums, _“Anytime, bud.”_

Noctis hangs up first. Then he stares at his wallpaper—him and Prompto posing goofily in front of a chocobo poster—until the screen shuts off. 

He puts his phone back on the shelf. He feels like dreams are just around the corner, already seeping into his mind. 

His last thought before he succumbs is that when he’s king, able to do and decree as he pleases, he’s going to be with the cute blond commoner that he’s always wanted.


End file.
